He pressed her to his bosom, shuddering with dread, and trying to soothe her hysterical outburst. So, little by little, he dragged the story from her. For three days she had been making up her mind to shoot herself, and she had chosen that night for the time. “I’ve been sitting here for an hour,” she whispered--“with the revolver in my hand. And I couldn’t get up the courage to pull the trigger.” He clasped her, white with horror. “I heard you coming,” she went on. “I lay and pretended to sleep. Then I tried again--but I can’t, I can’t! I’m a coward!” “Corydon!” he cried. “There was only one thing that stopped me. You would have got on without me--” “Don’t say that, dearest!” “You would--I know it! I’m only in your way. But oh, my baby! I loved him so, and I couldn’t bear to leave him!” She clung to him convulsively. “Oh, Thyrsis,” she panted, “think what it meant to me to leave him. He’d have been without a mother all his life! And something might have happened to you, and he’d have had no one to love him at all!” “Why did you want to do it?” he cried. “Oh Thyrsis, I’ve suffered so! I’m weary--I’m worn out--I’m sick of the fight. I can’t stand it any more--and what can I do?” “My poor, poor girl,” he whispered, and pressed her to his heart in a paroxysm of grief. “Oh, my Corydon! My Corydon!” The horror of the thing overwhelmed him; he began to weep himself--his frame was shaken with tearless, agonizing sobs. What could he do for her, how could he help her? But already he had helped her; it was not often that she saw him weeping, it was not often she found that she could do something for _him_. “Thyrsis, do you really _want_ me?” she whispered. “Do you truly love me that much?” “I love you, I love you!” he sobbed. And she replied, “Then I’ll stay. I’ll bear anything, if you need me--if I can be of any use at all.” Section 19. So their tears were mingled; so once more, being sufficiently plowed up with agony, they might behold the deeps of each other’s souls. Being at their last gasp, and driven to desperation, they would make the convulsive effort, and break the crust of dullness and commonplace, and reveal again the mighty forces hidden in their depths. At such hours he beheld Corydon as she was, the flaming spirit, the archangel prisoned in the flesh. If only he could have found the key to those deep chambers, so that he could have had access to them always!